Page 23 of K-Pop Double Life

“And sometimes people choose symbols instead of individuals,” Aidan said. “If someone wants to damage Starhouse, attacking one of its most recognizable performers sends a message.”

“This tour,” Haneul asked Eun-ji. “Is the money it costs taking resources away from other groups?”

Eun-ji’s lips tightened. “I’m not authorized to talk about internal financial arrangements at Starhouse. But I’m sure there is some jealousy.”

Haneul rested his elbows on the table. As usual, he wanted to take care of all of us. “So what do we do?”

“We do exactly what we planned,” Aidan said. “We assume the threat is real until we know otherwise. Security at the rehearsal and concert stays tight. If anything feels wrong, even if it seems insignificant, you tell Jason, Liam, or me immediately.”

Sun-hee-noona said, “Jason and Aidan and Liam and the security staff can worry about threats and protection. Your job is to give the fans the best concert you can. Justify their love for you.”

She looked around the table the way she always did before a concert, making sure each of us was listening.

“You’ve all performed through jet lag, injuries, food poisoning, and broken hearts. Monday you perform through this.”

That sounded so much like the old Sun-hee-noona that I almost smiled.

Almost.

Beneath the table my hand rested against my leg, only a few inches from Sang-hoon’s. I wanted nothing more than to reach for him. Instead, I curled my fingers into my palm.

Sooner or later, I knew, one of us was going to forget to be careful.

9

MY PERSON

SANG-HOON — PARIS

Sunday May 24, 2026

Sunday morning, we met at nine for a buffet breakfast in one of the hotel’s private dining rooms. Someone had pushed two long tables together and covered them with enough croissants, fruit, cheeses, and coffee to feed twice our number.

Without the bodyguards there, we were comfortable speaking in Korean. Woo stood over a map on his phone before he’d even poured himself coffee. “I’ve narrowed it to six pâtisseries.”

Jason looked up from buttering a croissant. “Six?”

“We only have until rehearsal.”

“That’s exactly why six is too many.”

Woo ignored him. “Pierre Hermé, Cédric Grolet, Stohrer, Angelina...”

“You forgot Ladurée,” Grace said. Her Korean was more formal than ours, more like the way university scholars spoke. I wondered how she managed to translate the way some of us spoke. Woo grew up in a farming town near Jeonju and he had been tutored in standard Seoul Korean for television appearances, but often his hometown accent slipped out. Haneul’s Busan dialect was rougher and Grace sometimes struggled to put his answers in a more polite way.

Woo looked scandalized. “I don’t forget Ladurée. I don’t want Ladurée.”

Grace laughed. “Why not?”

“They’re famous,” Woo said. “I’m looking for the best.”

Our content producer, Han Ji-ho, was only a year or so older than Jin and me, with bright yellow hair and a constant phone or other recording device. He was looking for the best backdrops to film media content. In one corner, he and our physical therapist were talking with the tech engineer and the choreographer about what they wanted to see in Paris. Those four kept to themselves, because unlike the others, this was their first tour with Pryzm, and they rarely connected with the performers and the artistic staff.

Across the table, Haneul was studying a museum guide. “Which museum do you want to visit?” Jin asked. “There are so many. Almost as many as there are pastry shops.”

“I think the Rodin Museum. I want to study the way his sculptures are positioned.”

“Not to add more choreography!” Tae said. “We already do too much.” He yawned. “I’m going back to bed to rest my leg. I want to be perfect for Paris.”